Time Changes Everything
by Jess Idres
Summary: It's been six years since Emilia set foot on Palau Palau, and seven since she last saw Jack Stiles. Whatever happened to the man she knew? No ones knows. Until now...
1. Default Chapter

I never did understand why they ended this series- it was the perfect blended cheese, BC, and revolutionary parody. Anyways, this is a little story that been rattling around my head for a long time, and it only just coalesced. Just to warn fans of the series, this is proof I'm a sadistic little author.  
  
Time Changes Everything By Yokan  
  
Emilia Rothschild stepped carefully off the gangplank onto the docks of Palau Palau for the first time in six years. The island seemed barely changed, still bright as ever, the people unconcerned with how the world around them was changing. The French still ruled, the ships still came in and out of port from the world over...In fact the only change any of them would have noticed would have been the absence of a certain urban myth, the Darin-  
Emilia shook her head slightly, sighing at the pain in her breast. For six years of working together, they had parted on bad terms. Their respective countries had slowly wound themselves back to their own ways- even with Napoleon as a common enemy could they stay away from descending back into petty squabbles. Jack and she had fought often about it, but she hadn't thought of it. But by March of 1807, though, it was obvious that both were too loyal to their own (and too stubborn, she added sadly), and Jack had left for the States, both their good byes terse and poisonous. There had been a look in his eyes, though, just before he walked up the gangplank, out of her hair forever. Even now, seven year later, she awoke in the middle of night, those brown eyes boring into her soul.  
She had heard rumors, of course, being a spy and all. Some say he was arrested on false charges, for working with the British; others that he had retired to the hills of Pennsylvania; even more said they had killed him defending Washington. Whatever the case, as the war worn down, the man who had been America's top spy was off the radar. Out of her reach, at least. No chance to apologize....  
She straightened. The past had little importance now. Napoleon was still a threat, even as he was being hemmed in. She was tired of England, and Palau Palau was an evil she could live with. Being a female spy made it hard to defend herself against her peers and her superiors. Working with an American hadn't helped, either- several had insinuated she had been wooed over to the other side, what her fragile femininity. They had found the wrong side of an experiment, of course, but it still hurt. Palau Palau was away from all of that, where she was free from her family, her overbearing peers. Even if she had to face the ghosts of her past, it was still better than London.  
She strolled down the main street, greeting old friends and contacts, admiring the wares, getting herself lost in shallow conversation and gossip. This is what she had enjoyed so much about Palau Palau. Even with the death of her husband, the people and atmosphere buffered from the pain. Before she could lose herself completely, however, a commotion caught her attention.  
A garrison of French troops surrounded a small cart, hassling the vendor for taxes he obviously had already paid. A soldier drew his sword, and pressed it to the poor man's throat. Emilia tried to rush over to help, but the crowd was too thick, she'd never get there in time! There had to be another way.  
Before she could change her tactics, however, a flash of red and black swooped in from the tree line and landed right behind the crowd of soldiers. Emilia gasped, redoubling her efforts to get closer. It couldn't be, it just couldn't be....!  
But the French officer confirms her wild suspicions. "The Daring Dragoon! Get him!" The troop lunged at the masked man.  
Emilia watched, entranced. Whoever he was, this Dragoon had been quite faithful the original's costume; in fact, it was almost identical, from what she could see at her distance. However, the mannerisms were all wrong. Jack had been witty with each sword thrust, drawing out the battle, not really harming those he fought as the victim got away. This one, however, just fought silently, delivering vicious blows to his foes. No blow was serious enough to kill, but enough for several weeks of serious medical care. Several now lay on the ground, clutching wounds.  
The officer and the Dragoon were the only ones left standing, and Emilia bit her fist, still unsuccessful in getting any closer to the fight, unable to see the Dragoon carefully. The Dragoon thrust on, almost in bloodlust. Emilia saw the captain's blade find an opening and bit down hard on her hand to keep herself from crying out as the sword pierced the Dragoon's arm through the bicep. She tried to look away from the carnage, preparing for the surrender, but she was frozen on the spot, unable to turn her eyes away.  
But the surrender, even the cry of pain that both she and the captain had obviously been expecting, never came. Grabbing the captain's blade to hold the officer fast, the Dragoon swung the hilt of his sword, the pommel connecting with a sick crack with the officer's temple. The other sword snapped in half under the unconscious man's weight. Finished, the Dragoon ran off as silently as he had come.  
  
Emilia still stood in shock as the crowd dispersed. Who was that? Taking a moment to regain her composition, she turned to her one of her old contact's stall. He smiled her, obviously expecting her confusion.  
"He appeared a year ago. No one knows who he is, of course. Some say it is the old Dragoon from before, having escaped French custody. Others say it is a new man, inspired by the other. A few say he is not a man at all- he fears no pain, does not bleed when he is pierced, or even cry out...as you no doubt saw." The merchant said as he made to show her various trinkets.  
"Yes, I did, although he did bleed. So he's somewhat human." Emilia's rational mind kicked in.  
"Yes, so it would seem. Speaking of old times, have you spoken to Mr. Stiles recently? I do miss his jokes."  
Emilia's elation crashed. "I haven't spoken to Jack Stile in a very long time. For all I know, he's dead and buried." She said a bit tersely, letting the bitterness seep into her voice.  
"Ah, too bad, too bad. Hah, you know, we used to think you two fancied each other, but were just professional to ever admit it to each other. But things change, I guess. I am sorry."  
Emilia sighed. "Yes, yes they do. Thank you. Good day, Monsieur." With that, she turned to finish her trek home.  
  
She was still lost in memories as she turned the lock on her front door. Funny, it turned rather easily for several years of disuse. She supposed that was the work of her associates who had kindly looked in every now and then to check in. She'd have to air out the bed linens, of course, and check up on her lab....  
Emilia stopped. The false door, which she had installed before she left (to keep any would-be burglar from finding the lab while the illusion was turned off), was slightly ajar. Any other worries were dashed from her mind as she rushed down the secret stairs. If anyone had found the things in her lab, she was done for!  
Peering into the darkness, Emilia grabbed a lantern and crept into the depths. Most things were as she had left them, although there was a serious lack of dust. The lab seemed cleaner than the first several years Jack had lived there, she mused. A few books were on her desk, though. Volumes of local herbal remedies, and explosives, she noted. Strange, her volumes of British intelligence were undisturbed.  
A moan from behind a section made her turn. The noise came from the back corner of the lab, where Jack had once lived. She raised the lamp higher and grabbed a pistol off the display rack. She inched closer, noting that it definitely seemed to be a human making those noises.  
Emilia bit back a gasp. It was the Dragoon, from earlier! That was how he had gotten the costume so right! Any worry of trouble vanished as she noticed the sword tip still embedded in his arm, the entire sleeve dyed a dark red from the wound. Grabbing her few medical supplies left in the lab, she bent down to help the poor hero.  
He weakly protested, eyes still closed and head slipping down the cold wall. She cut away the bloody blouse, ignoring the dozens of scars that marred his skin, then quickly formed a tourniquet, and removed the blade. She cleaned then wound before binding tightly. A sigh of relief escaped when she was done. He would live another day to fight the good fight.  
The masked man had already passed out long before she had finished. After moving him to a better position, she finally examined this stranger in her house. This wasn't the first time he felt the bite of a sword or bullet, no wonder he was used to pain, she realized sadly. He was also on the lean side, no doubt used to the pang of hunger as well. Emilia tsked softly- he had probably broken in to find food at first, finding the lab by accident. Her eyes moved up and rested on the mask. She had to know what he looked like. She had been away so long, she doubted she'd know him, but still, who had learned her secrets and made them his own? She lightly slipped off the hat, then, with hesitation, untied the mask.  
And stared.  
Several more scars crossed his face, including a burn over the left eye, and his temples sported white streaks, but there was no doubt in Emilia's mind.  
She tried to speak, but could only manage a strangled whisper.  
  
"Jack?" *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* To be continued....  
  
How am I doing? Please tell me.... 


	2. Casualties of War

"Jack?"  
  
Emilia nearly bolted from where she sat, but the weight of the Daring- her former- the American- JACK, resting on her lap, kept her put. She stared into the darkness of the lab, absently stroking his head; more for her own comfort than his. Why was he here, ten thousand miles from home, back to the island he had vowed never to set foot on again? What had happened to him, Emilia wondered, noting again the scars and white sideburns. Certainly Jack was a bit older than she was, but this hardly looked like signs of natural aging. Her mind ran through possible conclusions, shivering at each one.  
Restless, Emilia carefully moved from under Jack, straining to lever him onto the cot that had been his home, from what she could understand, for the past year. She removed his boots and suspenders, and ran upstairs for a heavier blanket. He was alive, but with his current blood loss and obvious poor nutrition, the cold of the lab could undo the hard work she had just done. And damned it all, she wasn't going to let Jack Stiles die, definitely not until she had some answers.  
But it was pointless to simply wait here, torturing herself over what could have brought the American spy back to Palau Palau. Emilia busied herself with directing the dock workers coming with the few crates of personal gear she brought from England, and undoing six years of neglect around the house. Surprisingly, nearly everything was still in its place- nothing broken, nothing stolen- by native or French thieves. She wondered absently if Jack had a hand in it.  
It was during this sweep of the house, a broken window latch in the second floor bathroom caught her eye. Scratches in the paint on the shudders and a small spot of blood on the inner windowsill confirmed her suspicions; this was where Jack entered the house. The foliage on this side of the house was dense, and the second floor meant his break-in was less likely to be noticed. It still didn't answer the question of why, though. She sighed, and began the descent back down to the lab.  
  
It was another several hours before her patient opened his eyes. Tired herself, Emilia almost missed the slow fluttering of his eyelids against the light of the lanterns. She couldn't miss the action that followed if she tried, though, for he shot up at once, staring at his bedside visitor with a look akin to a frightened animal. Before the English spy could even try and stop him, her former partner attempted to escape from his sickbed, scrambling out of her grasp. He collapsed back down quickly, however, as his injured arm gave out below him, allowing her to firmly grasp his shoulders and force him to look at her. "Jack, Jack! It's Emilia! I'm not going to hurt you, I promise! Calm down!"  
Slowly, the feral fear that infected the injured spy dissipated with ragged breaths. Gulping for air, he stared at her, as if to determine if she was friend or foe. "Did you tell them? About me?" His voice was raw and scratchy- she wondered if he had even spoken to a soul since reaching the island.  
"Jack, no one knows you're here except me. God, Jack, what's happen to you?" Emilia lessened her grip, gently cupping the poor man's cheek. "What in God's name happened to you?"  
Jack breathed, as if to speak, and looked away. "I..., ah...I..." He looked at her, and it was if a dam broke inside him. She held him, rocking the poor broken man gently as he choked on his own tears.  
It was only later that she realized, her own face damp with tears of sympathy, this was the first time she had seen him cry.  
  
It was almost night when Jack finally had worn himself out, allowing Emilia to wash his face with a hot towel and make him a cup of chamomile tea. Settling in to a chair next to a small brazier she brought from upstairs, she waited quietly for him to start.  
"They called me a traitor."  
"Who did, Jack?"  
"They did. The government, the politicians- hell, some of the people I thought were my friends did! I spend my whole life giving my all for my country and they don't even give a damn! Show how much loyalty is worth to people nowadays...."  
"I'm sorry, Jack, if my country hadn't insisted..."  
"It's not your fault, Em. They just needed an excuse. If they really thought me a traitor, they would have arrested me as soon as I got off the boat home. It wasn't until everything went back to hell in 1810, they went after me....God damned War Hawks...They needed a scapegoat. So good old Jack, he worked with the British! They wanted me to admit to telling the British our trade routes, to rally the people against the embargo."  
"Oh, Jack, I'm sorry... I have to admit my government accused me of the same thing..."  
Jack scowled and looked away. "They didn't even accuse me- they TOLD me to admit it. I refused, of course. I didn't spend six years in the middle of nowhere to go blabbering off over tea! I may be a coward, an idiot, and a fool...."  
"...But you're loyal to a fault. I wasn't your partner for six years for nothing, Jack." Emilia smiled softly at the long standing joke between them.  
Jack smiled, then winced at the memories. "Em, I wish you could have told them that... They tried to make me, then got it into they're heads they were right, and I really was a double agent. They threw me in prison...then they tried to get information about my dealings...I told them what I knew already...but they kept going, and going...t-they, oh god, Em, they..."  
"Shh, Jack. It's ok. I understand." Emilia placed a finger on his lips, and hid the shiver that ran up her spine. She understood now why his temples had gone white- not from age but what he had been through. They had tortured one of their own to try and start a war. Any respect she had for the American governing system vanished. Any fool could see Jack was willing to die for his country, and they repaid him like this!  
He squeezed her hand reassuringly, a soft bitter smile on his lips. "I never did break, in the end. Jefferson still had a few favors left, and had me smuggled out to Florida. I could never go back to America, my home, my friends, my family. I didn't know what to do anymore...I just drifted from port to port. After a year a ship made a supply stop here. I remembered what it was like to care about something- to fight for a cause. So I snuck off, and found out you were in England again, and decided to stay. It helps, you know, to keep the numbness away, fighting for a cause again..."  
"But why didn't you tell anyone? Most of our contacts are still here, they would have been glad to supply you with better accommodations, or some proper food! Hell, Jack, if I hadn't come back, you probably would have died! Why," Emilia stopped, realization hitting her, "That's what you wanted, wasn't it? Oh, Jack..."  
He didn't respond, but she knew she was right. They both sat in silence, unsure how to proceed with such knowledge laid bare. Absently she traced the grooves and bumps of this scars. Changing the subject, she touched the scar tissue around his left eye. "This...isn't as old as most of the others. I'm surprised you can still see. What happened there?"  
"A ship I was on got attacked by Chinese pirates. They tried to set fire to the sails with long torches. A sailor killed one of the torchbearers as I was underneath. It's a bit blurry when I'm tired, but it's ok."  
Emilia smiled softly, then put on her best 'science' face. "Actually, I've been working with several eastern remedies lately, and I think I might be able to fix some of that damage, if you let me."  
Jack smiled. Soon they were exchanging what else had happened in the six years since they last spoke, carefully treading around their own pains and the last bitter argument they had had. Jack was visibly relieved at the news that the war was nearly finished, and that Napoleon was on the retreat. For a short while, he almost seemed like his old self.  
Finally, Jack drifted off, the blood loss and emotional turmoil taking its toll on his fragile grip of consciousness. Emilia pulled up the comforter she had brought from chest upstairs, watching as Jack shifted under the warmth. Tracing his jaw line before softly kissing his forehead, she began to formulate a plan to save her friend from the hell of self-exile. 


	3. Espionage in Tempest

The next few days were unexpectedly quiet for the both of them. Jack stayed in the lab, refusing to come up to a spare bedroom, since no one had known he was on the island, and it would no doubt ring alarm bells if he turned up mysteriously. Although Emilia felt he had a point, she knew Jack well enough to see that the past year in isolation had taken its toll on Jack's comfort around people.  
Dealing with him would have to wait a few days, however, as she once again had to let her presence be known to the island, both to the social elite and the spy network. Everything had to be done carefully- social scenes change, and spies change alliances- but Palau Palau, she had to admit, was isolated from the ravages of the outside world, and little changed. Governor Croque was so harmless that no country- not even his own- cared if he stayed in charge. The islanders, thus, still hated the governing class like nothing else, and were more than willing to help the British spy with information.  
Jack, too, was helpful in filling in what he had learned in the past year. Ships from every major country in Europe stopped here, so he knew things about recent trade routes that even England would be hard pressed to learn. Even country-less, he was still one of the best spies out there- something Emilia had never really thought about until they had parted ways before. Now, seeing him with all the bravado stripped away, it was painfully obvious that this man knew what he was doing. It only made Emilia even more determined to save him from this pit of despair he had been flung into.  
So when it was clear Jack was completely out of the woods, so to speak, she set her plan in motion. She prepared him a simple dinner that night, which she knew he had enjoyed so much more than the fancy creations of the governor's mansion, back when they had been first assigned to each other. Grasping the tray, she stepped through the fireplace and smiled to see Jack engrossed in several of the books she had left him when he had refused to come up stairs. Unaware he was being watched from the top of the stairs, he played absentmindedly with the eye patch that Emilia had provided him to help heal the scar tissue around his eye. "Jack, leave it be. It will heal quicker this way."  
He looked up and smiled. "Hey, Em. Sorry, but it's just odd having something there. The mask is easy enough to wear, but having no depth perception bites." He attempted to hides the book he was reading inconspicuously.  
Emilia set the tray down and snatched the book from Jack's grasp. "What are you hiding here, Jack Stiles?" She looked at the book cover. "The Tempest? Why, Jack, I never knew you liked William Shakespeare. Although I can see how you can relate the story to our own predicament."  
"Yeah, well, I figured you'd make some comment about British superiority in the writing department, or something along the lines about being able to understand the big words. Yes, Em, I like Shakespeare. His writing is definitely page turning. To be able to be banished and come out in the end happier- it's something anyone could wish for." Jack couldn't help but sound a bit bitter at that.  
Emilia sighed. "Jack...." She brushed a stray hair from his head. "Well, who knows, there's time left for you to have a happy ending. Right now, I'm more concerned about this food ending up in your stomach. You've been without proper diet for far too long, it's about time you got a decent set of meals." She moved the tray in front of him, practically glaring the food down his throat.  
"Yes, ma'am, whatever you say." He threw her a mock salute.  
Emilia toyed with the book in front of her. "When we started working together, back then, I imagined you as a sort of Caliban."  
"Gee, thanks, Em. I didn't know you cared." Jack rolled his eyes.  
"I didn't say I still thought of you as such, Jack. I have to say that probably, if I thought about it, you'd have been more of an Ariel- not exactly willing to do tasks, but competent and mischievous."  
"Yeah, I can definitely have seen you playing Prospero- nose so far down in a book that you let the real world pass you by!"  
"Very funny. Now that I think back on it, you really were a bit of a Ferdinand. A little too passionate for your own good, and could use a bit of sense knocked into you, but willing to do anything for your cause. Even it did mean getting whacked around by Prospero every so often." Emilia grinned.  
"What do you mean, 'Every so often'?! You took a whack at me nearly every chance you got!" Jack smiled, before stifling a yawn. "Funny, I've gotten terribly tired all of the sudden. Guess all that reading and bickering wore me...out..." Jack slumped backward onto the bed, his silverware clattering on the nearly empty plate. Through heavy eyelids, he concentrated on Emilia's sad face. "What? Wait...Em... you... drugged my food...didn't you? I...trusted you." It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open.  
Emilia cupped his cheek, and looked him straight in the eye, even as it lost focus. "Jack, I promise you I'm not betraying that trust. But you wouldn't agree to this otherwise. I will not let anything happen to you, alright?" Emilia felt more than saw Jack nod slightly. Feeling horribly guilty, she rested her forehead against his, rocking it softly. When he was completely under the effects, she kissed his relaxed brow, and stood up.  
It was time for her to work a little illusion for the people of Palau Palau.  
  
The last thing he remembered was the feeling of Emilia's skin on his. It wasn't too bad a feeling, so he reached out to find her again, but found nothing. He started, then, as felt the bed...no, the entire room rock beneath him. He was on a ship! That little-! He shot up, desperate to find out where he was. Had she sold him out, back to face the tribunal of his own country or sent him to England, to tell him what he knew?  
"Easy there, mate. Or you'll ruin the paint." An older man came out of the shadows of the small cabin and patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, you'll be back to Palau Palau in no time."  
Paint? Didn't he just come from the island? What was going on?  
The older man, who Jack now recognized as one of Emilia's various captains among the merchant fleet, smiled knowingly. "Look at you, mate. Looking pretty sharp for a guy who's survived being captured by pirates, eh?"  
Jack looked incredulously at the older man, then down at himself. His upper body, which was bare, was a crisscross of bandages. All the scars he'd gotten in the past few years looked as if they had all reopened, and only just begun to re-heal. Funny, he didn't feel in any pain.... Of course! It was make-up! That was what the old man had been talking about.  
  
As realization on what Emilia had done, the old man continued talking. "We just found you, you see, aboard a pirate ship that another vessel just captured. Seems that your boat got attacked, and the pirates were trying to ransom you. We're taking you back to Palau Palau for some proper medical treatment. Hopefully our employer, Emilia Rothschild, will know of a good doctor, maybe be able to put you up while you stay." He winked at Jack, who grinned.  
"Why that rascal of an English woman!" Jack shook his head in disbelief. "I guess I underestimated her...again." He lightly touched the rapier wound on his arm and leaned back against the pillows, staring beyond the ceiling.  
"We'll be at dock in a few hours, sir. Ms. Rothschild said it'd be best if you didn't speak when we haul you topside. For the pageantry, she said, and the less you speak the bigger the shock will be to the guv and the island." The captain gave Jack small cup of wine. "You can guess what's in this."  
Jack nodded and scowled at the cup, before downing it in one swig. But even as he drifted off again under the spell of Emilia's concoction, he wondered if there was still a need for a Jack Stiles in this new world. 


	4. Nightmares and Nuances

Emilia twiddled with the tea cup in front of her, passing her fingers around the delicate porcelain handle, trying not to worry of all the possible things that could go wrong with her plan to save her friend. If she was calmer, she would ponder where this deep attachment towards the American had occurred, but her mind was too blurred with possible things that could go wrong. What if Jack refused to forgive her? Ask the captain to take him to another island, leaving her with the guilt on her shoulders?  
"Emilia? Are you alright?" She started at the question, nearly spilling the dregs of her tea on her knee. She looked up at Governor Croque, who sat opposite on the couch facing her. She smiled hesitantly and sighed slightly. The Governor was clueless as ever, even worse now that his wife Camille had been beheaded for treason several years ago. His new wife, a minor German princess, seemed to only have a little more between her ears than he did.  
"I'm so sorry, Governor. I don't know what's come over me. I just seem to think something horrible has happened, and I can't seem to shake the feeling." It was the truth. Mostly.  
"Non, Emilia. Nothing could possibly go wrong on such a beautiful day. I would not be surprised if the Daring Dragoon took a holiday!"  
"The Daring Dragoon, Governor? Is he still around? I would have thought he would have long given up on defeating the best governor in all of the French Empire." Emilia bit the side of her cheek, remembering the image of the foil stuck in Jack's arm.  
"Oui, Madame! Although I think this one is different than the one you and I knew before. He is much more, how you say, ferocious. I do not think 'e is even human!" The governor shuddered.  
"Really." Emilia tasted the coppery salt of blood, as she bit down harder. Jack was more human than the Governor could ever know. She saw the final effect her touch up job burned into the back of her eyelids. Even when she knew it was just make up, she knew that at one point he actually looked like that after his comrades had tortured him.  
But before she could dwell further on her poor spy, a soldier stepped into the drawing room. "Excuse me, your Governorship, but Madame Rothschild is requested at her docks. One of her ships has found something that requires her immediate attention." He bowed and nodded to Emilia.  
Governor Croque clasped his hands and stood. "This is unusual! We will accompany the Madame to see what her business has found, oui?"  
Emilia smiled at the Governor's not-so-subtle attempt to be included into the excitement. Most likely the governor was hoping it would be something he could tax- or steal, knowing the governor's underhanded means at grabbing wealth. But Croque was too short sighted to see the true value of this cargo.  
  
The captain stood waiting for them at the gangplank, removing his hat as Emilia and the governor approached. "I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but it I knew you'd want to see this right away. We were attacked by pirates not yesterday, but they were outmaneuvered. Cooper, the first mate found him the hold....he's in bad shape."  
Emilia, for her part, acted well. "What do you mean, 'He', Captain? Who are you talking about?"  
The Captain stepped aside from the gangplank, revealing two sailors carrying a stretcher down the narrow steps. Wrapped in a gray blanket up to his mid chest, bloody, and a bandage covering half his face, lay Jack Stiles, former attaché of the Rothschild Shipping Company.  
Emilia did not need to act much at the sight of her friend. She remembered how she found him, battered and crushed by his own loyalties, cowering in her lab, bleeding his life out on the concrete floor. She collapsed to the ground, next to her friend. "Jack... oh, Jack...."  
Croque blinked, then stepped forward to touch the shoulder of the American monkey that had for so long had brought a smile to his governing with his bumbling antics. Even as he felt the scarred flesh under his hand, he couldn't believe it. Jack had been a good friend, saving both his life and his governorship on many occasions. But perhaps most amazingly, he had managed to make the widow Rothschild laugh and relax again, the first time since Monsieur Rothschild died. Not that Emilia had ever admitted such. Croque was not the most astute man, but he felt there were several things that Emilia had not told Jack, and he vice versa. Perhaps he was a bit of a romantic, but if they had met under circumstances....  
Emilia regained her composure with a shake of her head. She stood up quickly and turned to the sailors holding the stretcher. "Please, follow me. We'll take him to my house. Captain, will you get the Doctor Wushang and meet me there?" She turned back to Croque. "Governor, I'm sorry to be so abrupt-"  
"Non, Madame, I take no offense at all. Take care of him, for all of us. Fate has obviously brought him here for a purpose, no?" He patted her shoulder soothingly, and stepped back to watch the macabre parade head to the Rothschild estate.  
  
Jack Stiles was used to nightmares. They were his only constant companion as he had moved from ship to ship, drifting through the south Indies. Demons, ripping him apart, or reliving hours of torture were common. One nasty fever dream had involved him awaking in Emilia's room, covered in blood...and his former partner ripped to shreds in front of him. The sight of her lips dyed in her own blood and her glazed eyes accusing him of the horror done to her had sent him to the rails, heaving his rum ration into the dark sea. He had taken night watch from then on, and didn't return to his hammock until he had no choice.  
When he had returned to Palau Palau, re-donning the mask of the Dragoon, the nightmares were still there, matching his steps. The dragoon mask would often be the focus of these haunts, either suffocating him as he was swallowed up by French troops, or as in one vivid dream, refuse to come off, growing into his skin, transforming into a hideous black beast, his humanity swallowed whole. What was worse, he had occasionally found himself enjoying the loss, losing all cares of morality as he destroyed his enemies with claws and fangs. He became a black and red dragon, wrapped around the ruins of the Rothschild estate. Jack would awake in the lab from these nightmares, often clutching the black mask, even though he had left it in the trunk at the foot of the bed.  
But this, this was no nightmare. He was clearly dreaming, but there were no horrors, no torturing. He wasn't wrapped around the house, belching fire, but simply sat on a couch in the living room of the Rothschild mansion, comfortably enjoying a roaring fire. There was no Dragoon costume in sight, just loose pants, a white dress shirt, and one of those heavy soft blankets Emilia had bought from India. Jack felt at home.  
  
He barely registered someone else sitting down on the couch with him until he felt a soft weight on his shoulder. Part of him cringed, preparing for the start of another nightmare, but his instincts told him this was natural, and this was a friend. White golden hair drifted into view, and as he shifted, light perfume reached his nose. He couldn't see his companion's face without disturbing them both, but Jack noticed the lady was dressed in shades of cream and gold, and a feathery cape cascaded down her back, mingling with her hair. Gingerly touching the mixture, he found it no cape but wings, which gently swayed under his stroking hands.  
Slowly the angel moved to stand, but he caught her hand. "Don't leave," He pleaded, cupping her hand in his as he brought it to his cheek. Jack only vaguely noticed as the scene around them melted away to Emilia's guestroom. He blinked against the light.  
"It's alright, Jack. I won't leave. I didn't realize you were up." Emilia placed her hand over his as it clutched her other. Jack was still slightly feverish under her touch. As she had seen the sailors out, guttural grunts and moans like that of a dying animal had called her back upstairs to the guestrooms. Jack had been in throws of nightmare, digging grooves into the plaster walls with his fingernails. Caring more about the bloody ruins of her friends fingertips than her walls, she grabbed onto his wrists with all her might, whispering softly into his ear that it was alright. He relaxed, and lay down in the bed next to him leaning against his shoulder, letting her presence chase away the past demons. "How are you feeling? I've washed off most of the makeup already."  
Jack nuzzled a bit into her hands. "Tired. But better than I have been. Thank you." 


	5. Threads and Needles

Emilia quietly closed the door to the guest room. Jack was sleeping quietly, still under the effects of the drugs. She leaned against the wood, her head swimming with thoughts. Watching Jack sleep had reminded her of her late husband, when they first married. When they had one of their few days off, they would have enjoyed the luxury of their own company, sleeping in. When she had touched Jack as he fell asleep, he had the countenance that rang true to her former husband's own. But...what did that mean? And why was she comparing her husband to her former spy companion? Emilia turned away from the door, not quite sure what now lay beyond it.

Emilia tried hard not to think about these strange new thoughts as she set about helping Jack get used being....well, Jack Stiles. The Daring Dragoon had been easy enough for him return to, but being Jack again meant he had to be willing to reach out again to the world, to put his trust into others hands. Emilia was determined not to let him withdraw away again.

She knocked on the door of the guest room that served as Jack's private hospital. Hearing no answer, she walked in- only to find him quickly dressing in the Dragoon's cape and mask. "Jack! What are you doing?!"

He pulled on his gloves and grabbed his scabbard from the hidden panel of the headboard. "Several soldiers are forcing peasants into chain gangs on the eastern part of the island. The Dragoon's going to go stop it."

Emilia gaped. "You were eavesdropping in on my conversation!" She shook her head angrily. "You're in no condition to go out and fight! ...Jack?!"

She looked around the room, looking for her charge, but was left only with an open window, with the curtains blowing in the sea air.

She was still there ten minutes later when he walked in behind her, gasping for breath and leaning on the doorframe. Arms folded, she refused to look at him, only recognizing his presence with a terse question, "Did you break the lock on the window?"

Jack groaned a bit, shaking off his costume and collapsing on the bed. "No, Emilia. I used the sword tip to jimmy the lock. Are you going to keep interrogating me, or can I get back into bed?"

Emilia rolled her eyes, and shifted her weight slightly under her petticoats. "Well, it's good to see one thing hasn't change, I guess. You still absolutely refuse to listen to me, particularly when I'm right!"

She sighed, and sat down next to him, brushing aside his sweat soaked hair. "Jack, you can't rush things. I want you to get better so you can go and do this without ruining your health. You're not dying on my watch, Mr. Stiles." She stroked his cheek lightly. They quietly looked at each other, letting the awkward silence build. Emila closed her eyes and sighed, trying to stay angry at him, to keep her from falling into this strange comfort she felt around him.

The uncomfortable quiet was broken by a sickening cough from Jack. "I better let you get back to sleep, then." Without looking up, she quickly shuffled out and closed the door behind her.

"Emilia..." Jack sighed at the closed door. Would they ever go back to the way they were? Did they even want to? This wasn't a working relationship, but was the line still drawn in sand between them? He crawled into bed, drawing into himself to think. Sleep would be a long time coming.

"Jack, really. There must be something you're willing to wear." Emilia rummaged through the swatches of fabric the seamstress had brought with her. Another week had past, and the governor was insistent to have his old "American Monkey" over for a dinner party in his honor. The few clothes that Jack had that fit him was the Dragoon costume. While the governor was an idiot, even he would have a hard time ignoring the evidence there. So she demanded her charge get at least a decent set of normal clothes. "And stand still. They need proper measurements."

"Emilia, I'm not comfortable dressed up as something I'm not. You're not getting me into those old clothes. Understand, sister?" Jack still stood straight obediently, but he glared at his partner anyhow. The glare was broken, however, as he tried to keep from scratching the eye patch again.

"Oh, I understand alright. You couldn't fit into those old things anyway. It seems once we take you away from the governor's parties, you actually stop acting like a pig. Don't scratch." Emilia kept a straight face, but inwardly breathed a sigh of relief that he was recovering from the visage of skin and bones that she had found him.

Jack glared at her, but was quickly distracted when the seamstress jabbed him with a needle. "Watch it, lady! I have enough scars already!"

Emilia glared at him. "Jack, don't scare the poor girl." She reached over and handed Jack a swath of dark silk. "A simple undercoat and vest in this. Think you could possibly live with it?"

He looked quizzically at her with a lopsided grin. "Who are you, and what have done with Emilia Rothschild, shilling miser?"

"I am not a miser, Jack Stiles. I just knew a good investment when I saw one, and that wasn't you. Besides, this just happens to be a present from the Governor. I think the silly little German wife talked him into it."

Jack fingered the cool fabric between his fingers. When it caught the light, embroidered dragons could be barely discerned. The totem of his true spirit, as the Algonquin tribe shaman back in Massachusetts might have told him. A younger Jack would have scoffed at the idea; but now? He proffered the scrap to Emilia. "Alright, but maybe a 'patch as well. This one itches like the devil."

"It wouldn't if you didn't scratch at the scar tissue so much." She took the fabric, accidentally brushing his fingers. She turned quickly to the seamstress to hide from Jack the growing blush on her face. Really, what had gotten into her lately! She stammered her wishes of the clothing in French, before hurrying out of the room.

Jack watched her in confusion. Did he do something wrong?

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Don'tcha hate when the say "To Be Continued?"

Comments, Critiques, Flames, JoaT naughtyfics, or Jack and Emilia dolls are welcomed and encouraged.


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